A Melting Spell
by themockingjayfromgallifrey
Summary: When Lisa Braedon disappears on her twentieth birthday, Prince Dean Winchester is determined to find her and break her curse with true love's kiss. Forced onto a journey of self-discovery, Dean finds himself making impossible choices that have deadly stakes. And when his confused feelings regarding a certain blue-eyed someone are thrown into the mix, things get complicated fast.
1. Chapter 1

Becky knocks on the door to Dean's bedchamber. Dean can always tell it's her because she always seems to knock once forcefully, as if to ensure she has your attention, and then again softly, as if to apologize for interrupting whatever it is that her betters are doing at the time. In this case, Dean had been sleeping.

"Prince Winchester, ser?"

He groans before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His back creaks in protest and- damn it, he had fallen asleep in his boots again. Son of a bitch, he _knew_ he shouldn't have gone for that extra couple hours of training, but he just hadn't been able to sleep. There's something about hacking away at a straw dummy that lets you forget all about-

Shit.

Today is Lisa's twentieth birthday.

"Ser?" Dean hears the door open, and soft footsteps pad into his room. "Sorry, I'm a wee bit late. I'll just get the hearth going for ye, then."

Dean violently pulls back the drapery to his bed, and he hears her squeak in fright.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Dean slips out of bed and practically runs to the door, grabbing his jerkin on the way out. "No need for that fire today, Beck."

He strides quickly down the corridor, sidestepping a few sleepy looking servants. They glance at him strangely, as if surprised to see one of the royal family up so early. Dean hardly notices. Fear eats at his insides, dark and cold and forceful. Let her be safe, _please_ just let her be safe.

Dean doesn't hesitate to thump urgently on the door to Lisa's bedchamber. The guards on either side of it ignore him impassively. "Lisa," he shouts, an edge of fear creeping into his voice. "Lisa, are you in there?"

She answers the door almost immediately, motioning for him to be quiet. "For the love of Sidhe, Dean, quiet down. You're going to wake the whole castle!"

A wave of relief sweeps through him, even as he examines Lisa's face. She is trying her best to look cheerful, but Dean immediately notices the dark circles under her eyes.

"You look terrible," he says, before mentally pinching himself. His brain is always too honest before coffee.

Lisa just snorts, motioning him into her room. "Even a faerie gift can only do so much. I've been too nervous to sleep." She shuts the door behind them and pads barefoot to her bed. Its covers are neat and unslept in.

A weak flame is flickering in the hearth, and the early morning light seems strained as it filters through the window. Something is out of place, and Dean stares out the window as he tries to pinpoint exactly what. When he finally grasps what is wrong, his eyes narrow. The adjacent castle courtyard is completely silent. The daily chatter of wildlife that usually greets the castle's early risers is eerily absent. It's as if even the animals are holding their breath, waiting for something awful to happen.

"You've noticed too, haven't you?" Lisa gazes at the window absently. Her fingers are clenching and unclenching in the fabric of her nightgown.

The bed dips under Dean's weight as he settles next to her. "Look at me. No, _look_ at me. You're going to be fine. Dad's raided half the villages in Eridor to buffer the guard, and a dozen fae besides. They'll gank that bat-winged bitch before she can say uncle."

She smiles weakly, but her eyes fall to her lap. They both know he isn't quite as confident as he pretends to be.

Of course, every possible precaution had been put into place. Everyone in the kingdom loves the king's young ward, and Dean knows they'll die if needed to protect her. The castle has even been warded against dark magyk, charms and sigils drawn on each of the four parapets. Even so, Dean plans on staying by her side the entire day. You can never be too careful.

God, how can this be his life? Normal people don't have to think about curses, or fucking evil faeries. Normal people think about what they're having for dinner. Normal people can step outside their walls without an entire armed guard breathing down their necks. _Normal_ people hadn't worried about Unseelie attacks for years, not since they were banished to the Badlands, north of Eridor.

He sighs slightly as a sudden wave of bitterness washes through him. Who the hell is he kidding? The life of a Winchester is about as far from normal as it gets.

Lisa breaks the silence. "Jeez, Dean, you smell rank. When was the last time you took a bath?" Her nose wrinkles delicately.

He lifts his arm and sniffs, for the first time really noticing his stained clothes and muddy boots. "The day before yesterday, I think?" At her frown, he hastily adds, "Look, I was gonna head to the bathhouse last night. Then I figured I should put in some more practice at the training yard. Guess I just got sidetracked."

She rolls her eyes and points toward the door. "Baths. Now." Before he can protest, she presses a finger over his mouth. It's soft and warm, doing a thorough job at shushing him. "I'll be fine for half an hour, Dean, I have my guards. You stink."

"What? It's not that bad, is it?"

"Could you please go? Dean, I can't even breathe in here!"

"You know, you never mentioned that one of your faerie gifts was bossiness. Although," Dean strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Now that I think about it that would actually explain a lot..."

She hits his shoulder, but a small smile is hovering on her lips. It's a minor victory. "Bath, Dean."

He stands slowly, turning to face her. "I'm not sure this is the best idea, Lis." She just rolls her eyes and gives him a nudge toward the door.

"I'll be back soon, alright? Stay here." He kisses her lightly on the cheek before heading out the door.

Dean turns the corner, walking down the hallway. He walks… and walks… and soon realizes he has taken a wrong turn. This is the part of the castle where the noble's children are tutored. Classrooms line both sides of the hall. Dean almost turns to retrace his steps, but suddenly stops. Why are there voices drifting out of one of the rooms? It's a Sunday. Dean almost dismisses them until he hears words that stop him in his tracks.

" _Rumors… the Unseelie… too far this time…"_

Backtracking, Dean presses his ear against the door.

" _Your majesty, with all due respect, I think this little matter is being blown way out of proportion."_ Dean recognizes Alistair, the slimiest of the King's three advisors. Just his voice sends shivers down his spine. Dean trusts Alistair just about as far as he can throw him, but the creepy bastard has been his father's advisor for as long as he can remember.

" _That's an absolute load of bollocks."_ Dean identifies this voice immediately as Balthazar, the Captain of the Royal Guard. " _We have multiple reports coming in from different sources. Though nothing has been confirmed, we have strong reason to suspect that the Unseelie are violating the disarmament treaty. They are raising an army, sire."_

" _You think they've broken the treaty? It's been seven years of peace, Captain, and what this kingdom does not need right now is war. I can overlook mere border raids."_ Dean recognizes, with some surprise, the voice of his father. Whatever is happening must be serious.

 _"These aren't just raids, sire."_ Balthazar pauses. " _Nightflyers were spotted on our side of the border less than a fortnight ago."_

Dean's breath hitches for a second in his throat. "Nightflyers…" he breathes.

" _That's impossible. Terms of our treaty state they can't hunt within a hundred miles of the border."_

 _"These supposed "sightings" are probably nothing, my liege. Bats, maybe. They migrate around this time, I believe."_ Dean shivers as Alistair's voice coils around him, slick and oily. _"An easy mistake made by a simple peasant."_

 _"These must be some bloody huge bats, then. If you ever peel your bony arse off that chair of yours and come on a survey up north, you may someday be able to tell the difference between the kind that eat bugs and the kind that eat_ people _."_

" _No need, dear Captain. I let laymen do my legwork."_

 _"How_ dare _-,"_

" _That is_ enough _, gentlemen."_ The king sounds annoyed. _"I brought you here to council me, not to argue amongst yourselves. Balthazar, continue your report."_

There's a pause as he gathers himself. _"Besides these sightings, we have reports that goblins have been congregating in large numbers. Three raids have been conducted on the northernmost villages in just the last fortnight. The number of dead is estimated in the hundreds. I personally believe that this is only the beginning."_

Balthazar's voice lowers, becomes more urgent. _"You know as well as I do that goblins never organize into groups this big. Not without help, anyway. This is serious."_

Someone sighs, the sound defeated and familiar. Dean has often heard his father make that sound.

 _"There's nothing we can do if we want to avoid war."_

 _"This is too important to be ignored!"_ Anger has infected Balthazar's voice. " _People,_ your _people, are dying as the Unseelie grow stronger, and yet we do nothing! How many more will you sacrifice?"_

" _And how many more will die if I do something?"_

 _"Sire, if I may-,"_ Alistair interjects, but the king silences him.

 _"Say I issue a declaration of war on Andais, what then?"_ The King's volume is rising, getting angrier and angrier. _"Do you remember how many we lost ten years ago? Was it so long ago that you don't remember what_ you _have lost? What I… I let my subjects down. It won't happen again. We must avoid war at all costs!"_

Silence. The five kingdoms had sustained heavy casualties during the Second Faerie War, but Eridor had been the closest to the carnage. It seemed like every family in the kingdom had been touched by that brutal struggle. Balthazar himself lost his wife to a renegade nightflyer.

 _"Sire, if I may say something?"_ This voice is hesitant and unfamiliar, breaking the silence. The boy sounds young, maybe in his teens, and Dean is surprised that he would be allowed to give council.

" _Right… right. Yes, go ahead."_

 _"There have been, um, rumors of some sort of… creature, I don't know, drifting from village to village. It's not much, just a name. The Starving Ones. It's been said that Andais herself has been searching for them, though no one is sure exactly why."_

What the hell are "Starving Ones"? And what did old bat-wings want with them? Dean racks his brain, going through every monster he's ever heard of. There are goblins, hellhounds, redcaps, Nightflyers, but never has he heard the name before.

Apparently no one else has, either. There are a few more minutes of murmuring, but their voices have been lowered. Dean presses his ear harder against the door, trying to make out what is being said. He is concentrating so hard that he doesn't hear the footsteps that stop behind him.

Someone yanks his jerkin hard, almost tearing the collar as Dean is dragged to his feet. "What do you think you're doing, _boy_ ," a gruff voice hisses into his ear. "You wanna get yourself into trouble?"

Dean whirls around, ready to fight before he sees who it is. "Damn it, Bobby!" he whispers angrily. "You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!"

The old tutor just narrows his eyes. "You ain't supposed to be here."

"You know I should be in there right now! I'm not a kid anymore, Bobby. Despite what my father seems to think, I can handle some responsibility."

Bobby doesn't seem convinced. He manhandles Dean down the hall, muttering about how you-take-one-break-for-a-goddamned-piss and how the-reckless-boy-can't-keep-his-nose-where-it-doesn't-belong. Dean goes along with it, knowing there will be more trouble if he doesn't.

Bobby practically throws him out of the corridor. He sure is strong for such an old guy. Dean rubs his neck tenderly where the jerkin chafed it. He watches Bobby disappear back down the hallway, cursing under his breath.

Remembering Lisa with a sudden jolt, Dean pushes what he had heard to the back of his mind. He makes a beeline for the bathhouse and soon finds himself jumping into the nearest tub.

The water in every tub is supplied by a natural hot spring running under the castle, and usually Dean enjoys his long, relaxing soaks. Not today, though. He washes quickly and jumps out, hastily donning clothes that a servant had left for him. Uneasiness has begun to pool in his gut. He's been gone for far too long already.

Dean practically sprints through the castle, avoiding servants with proficiency stemming from years of practice. He doesn't bother to knock on Lisa's door, throwing it open with a bang.

Empty. Andais had beaten him to it.

Well, fuck.

"Lisa?" Dean croaks. He searches every inch of the room, as if Lisa would be hiding in her wardrobe or under her bedspread. The windows are all closed, locked from the inside. He rushes out to the corridor, fiercely addressing the guards. "Where is she?"

They just stare at him.

"Lisa, where's Lisa? You know, the princess I'm betrothed to? Remember her?" Dean is quickly approaching anger. Strike that, he is past anger. He has barreled past the yellow and into the red. This can't be happening. God, he shouldn't have left her alone.

The guards burst into her bedchamber. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dean wants to shout, to rage at the guards for letting her go. But he doesn't. Deep down, he knows this is his fault. If he had just stayed with her…

Something catches Dean's eye. He turns, for the first time noticing something half hidden by shadow in the corner of the room. Weird. That definitely hadn't been there before. Dean crouches down, getting a closer look at the object.

It's a small polished spindle. Well made, but nothing special. Dean picks it up, turning it in his hands. It's unusually heavy. A drop of blood rests on the tip. It doesn't take a genius to guess whose.

If there's one thing Dean is sure of in this moment, it's that Andais needs to die.

All the emotion, all the angerguiltfurygriefblame welling up inside him is shoved deep down. Dean packs it tight into a tiny box, rams it in until the lid closes.

Dean pockets the spindle. He has a job to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back, Dean's memories of Lisa are good ones.

He remembers the first time he spoke to her. Dean was just nine years old at the time. He was sitting near the edge of the royal gardens, leaning his back against the sun-warmed stone of the castle walls. The young prince had heard the rumors of course, with all the serving girls flitting in and out of rooms, tittering excitedly amongst themselves as they set the fire and brought his breakfast. One name in particular circulated throughout the castle. Lisa Braedon. The girl was a foreign princess who had arrived at the Eridorian Castle that very morning. As Dean's betrothed, she was to stay at the castle as King John's ward until the time had come for the marriage to take place.

Of course, Dean had fled to the gardens the moment he was left alone. All this talk of marriage left his chest feeling constricted and his stomach tied in knots. Dean's young heart craved open spaces and fresh air.  
Sitting in the grass, Dean's stubby little fingers repetitively tore up clover in clumps of green and brown.

Lost in the sort of speculative thought which only a troubled nine year old is capable of, it takes him a moment to notice the girl standing in front of him. Dean looks up, startled. He has to squint into the bright sunlight, and he shades his eyes with a hand.

The girl looks to be about his age. Wide eyes and wavy brown locks frame her round face, and she radiates an aura of cheerfulness. She plops down next to him, her dark green dress poofing out in a circle around her.  
"You're doing it all wrong," she says, in lieu of an introduction. "Here, I'll show you." The girl combs through the clover patch, picking the flowers until she has a fistful of them. She begins to weave them together with a practiced hand that suggests she has done this many times before. All Dean can do is watch, silently impressed by her skill.

When the girl is finished, she holds a perfect circlet of clover, which she places majestically onto her own head.

He snorts as it slips down over her eyes.

She immediately begins to pick more flowers. "I'll make one for you now," she announces with a cheery air. She pretends not to notice when Dean makes a face.

"What's your name?" the girl asks, intensely focused on the task at hand. "I'm Lisa. Lisa Braedon."

She gives him a small curtsey, or at least curtsies to the best of her ability while still sitting. The end result is a strange bobbing movement that makes Dean giggle. That is, until he realizes exactly what she has just said.  
His eyes widen. He stares at her as she continues to make the flower crown, oblivious to his bewilderment. Finally, Dean manages to stammer: "I think... I think you're supposed to marry me or something."  
She glances up, appraising him critically. "You must be Dean Winlester."

"It's Winchester, dummy."

She rolls her eyes, going back to gathering flowers. "Close enough. I'm still gonna make you a crown."

Surprisingly, Dean finds that he likes this girl.

She finishes quickly, examining the crown in her hands. Suddenly she is all formality, rising to her feet gracefully and extending her arms. The flowers hang inches from his face, and Dean fights the urge to sneeze. "I now dub thee Dean Winchester, King of the Gardens." She smiles, wiping her hands on her skirt. "There. Now you look like a proper king."

"Flowers are for girls, Lisa. Everybody knows that." He likes the way her name feels in his mouth. "Why don't you wear it?" Dean tosses he crown at her, aiming at her curly brown hair. It falls short by at least a foot, landing instead in the soft grass in front of her. "Anyways, I don't want to play. I'm not even king yet. That's my dad."

"Yeah, but one day you will be." Lisa grabs the clover chain again, placing it squarely back onto his head. It's a little rumpled, and she takes a moment to arrange it on his head. "Besides, I'm the guest, so I get to choose the game, and I choose kings and queens. The king has to wear a crown. Those are the rules."

Dean scowls up at her, but as he opens his mouth to protest her small finger gently shushes him. "Look. I didn't make the rules." With a skeptical look from Dean, she adds, "Please?"  
Dean sighs- a theatrical, exaggerated thing- then reluctantly nods. "But it's my turn to choose next. Come on, let's go find my brother Sammy. We hafta play with him, too."

She grins, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet. They race through the gardens together, giggles intermingling in the late afternoon sunlight.

Fast forward four years.

The Second Great Faerie War is in full swing, but the damage it has wrought is distant from the young prince. Indeed, the only way it has really affected Dean is the extra lessons that have recently been slotted into his busy schedule. These were deemed necessary by some old, dried out advisor whose name Dean has already forgotten. He is irritated; not only about having to learn Eridor's entire military history, but by the perfect summer day that taunts him through the open library windows.

Inside the library, it's as gloomy as ever. Even in the middle of the day, sunlight struggles to filter its way through the small windows that line the room. Dean longs to be outside in the bright sun, to breathe fresh air deep into his lungs. The droning voice of Bobby (who has been designated his "official tutor") combined with the musty smell of books has managed to lower Dean's spirits even further.  
Dean drags his gaze away from the windows, sighing. God, this particular history lesson must have lasted weeks already. Dean glances at the clock again, knee bouncing spasmodically underneath the desk. It has hardly changed at all.

He feels a sharp smack on the back of his head.

"Ow!" Dean exclaims. "What was that for?"

"Pay attention, boy. This lesson ain't gonna learn itself."

He sighs again, resigning himself to watching the dust motes swirling lazily through the air.

The moment the clock strikes two, Dean is out of his chair. His books lie forgotten on the desk behind him as he practically sprints to the door, tuning out the gruff voice calling after him. Something about extra reading, it doesn't matter. He is free for the rest of the afternoon. No lessons on propriety or politics, no meetings with his father, not even swordsmanship practice. Dean has a whole afternoon to himself, and he plans on using it.

Dean races through the corridors, rounding corners and dodging servants. He leaves a trail of disgruntled grumbling in his wake, but he doesn't care. He can practically hear the stables calling his name.  
Dean rounds the corner leading to Sammy's room and abruptly makes contact with a solid body. Both of them go tumbling head over heels along the flagstone floor. Dean hears shocked gasps, and someone even cries out. They skid to a halt, and Dean almost stops breathing before he realizes who it is. Thank god, it's just Lisa. He can deal with Lisa.  
Dean scrambles to his feet, momentarily getting caught in her many skirts before he frees himself.

"I'm so sorry." He offers a hand to her, and she hesitates before taking it. "I- I should have watched where I was going, but I was in a hurry and- I mean, I didn't mean to- um, sorry… again."

"Thanks, Dean. It's okay." She winces, shaking out her dress. Her two chaperones swarm her in a buzz of concern. One shoots a glare in Dean's direction, and he has the decency to flush bright red.  
Lisa turns back to him, fixing him with a faux glare. Dean shifts from one foot to the other. He has never experienced simultaneous embarrassment and relief until now. "Watch where you're going from now on, though." The severe look suddenly melts off her face, and she smiles playfully. "You wouldn't want you to run into, I don't know, King Taranis or something."

Dean's breath catches in his throat, feeling anxiety pool in his gut at the mention of a fae. Even though those from the Seelie Court are supposed to be on their side, there is something about the unearthly creatures that unnerves him. "Don't even joke about that, Lisa."  
His voice comes out sharper that he means it to. He doesn't even want to consider what would happen if he did something as disastrous as offending the King of the Seelie Court, who is currently a guest at the castle. Everyone knows that insulting one is as good as a death sentence. Dean glances around, suddenly nervous despite the fact that they are far from the faerie quarters of the castle.  
Lisa's expression softens. She laces her fingers through his, and the small warmth comforts him. "Sorry. I forgot for a second about… well, you know…" She squeezes his hand gently, trailing off. "You don't have to feel so scared around them, you know. All the faerie here are officials from the Seelie Court. They won't hurt you. It's the Unseelie you have to worry about. "

Dean tugs his hand out of hers, embarrassed. If anyone should be scared of fae, it's Lisa. She's the one with The Curse looming over her head. "I know that. I'm not stupid." She just looks at him more knowingly than any twelve year old has the right to be.

"I had better be going. Embroidery lessons." She rolls her eyes, making a face at him.

Dean can't help but snort, and glances behind Lisa at the chaperones waiting, rather impatiently, for her to finish talking. "Yeah, I gotta go too. I'm gonna find Sammy and teach him how to ride a horse!"

She shoots him a doubtful look over her shoulder. "Maybe you should start off with one of the ponies." She waves, and he loses sight of her as she rounds the corner. He stares after her, chewing the inside of his lip in worry.

Dean's spirits are considerably dampened as he walks toward Sammy's room. Just thinking about The Curse always leaves Dean with an uneasy feeling.

Just over a year ago, it had been decided by the royal advisors that Lisa was old enough to learn about the terrible weight of the curse lain upon her as a baby. Of course, she reacted the way any ten year old should. After an hour of searching, Dean and Sam found her crying in a corner of the wine cellar.

It took another hour of coaxing to calm her down. After a couple of deep breaths, she repeated what the counselors had told her.

Everyone across the Five Kingdoms knew the story of Princess Lisa's christening. The day she was born, all the bells in the land were rung to tell the glad tidings. A feast had been held, so grand and magnificent that six of the most important Seelie aristocrats had been invited. Each was furnished with a plate, spoon, knife, and fork- all made of the purest gold in the kingdom. Then, after all had eaten their fill, each faerie had granted the young princess a gift.

Dean counts them on his fingers.

Paramount beauty, a sweet disposition, grace in action and word, a voice like a nightingale, strength of character, and cunning wit. To the dismay of the entire kingdom, however, hardly a week had passed before Lisa's queen mother unexpectedly breathed her last. Dean himself had lived through the rest of the story. The baby was betrothed to him, and at the age of eight became a ward in the Eridorean Castle. And up until now, that was the end of the story.

Dean remembers how Lisa's voice shook as she recounted the true story, the side that had never been told until now.

There had actually been seven members of Seelie aristocracy present at Lisa's christening. Just as the sixth bestowed his final gift, however, he abruptly fell screaming to the marble floor. The other Seelie soon followed suit, clapping their hands to their pointed ears in a desperate attempt to shut out a sound that none of the humans were able to hear.

A black light exploded through the great hall.

It blasted through the retinas of those nearest, blinding them. The rest of the guests clamped their eyelids shut, feeling the magyk pulse throughout the room. The only person who thought to act was Lisa's queen mother, who rushed to the cradle in the midst of all the confusion and held the babe tightly to her breast.

When everything faded, a dark figure stood tall in the center of the room. Andais, Queen of Air and Darkness and ruler of the Unseelie Court.

She hadn't lingered long. The queen was as clever as she was evil, and knew she was at her weakest this far out of her domain. She had only asked to see the young princess.

When the Queen mother refused, the faerie laughed and struck her dead. Rendering the guards immobile with a flick of her elegant hand, Queen Andais approached the infant and picked it up with mock tenderness. Her bony wings flexed in anticipation. She smiled down at the baby, cooing and whispering, before granting a gift of her own. The Curse.

All the sparkling faerie favors  
Cannot be princess's saviors  
On her twentieth year, a stunted number  
Sunset will find her in eternal slumber  
Lone antidote is true love's kiss  
But ardor's indifference is evil's bliss

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, the queen vanished.

This was when the Seventh Faerie rose shakily to her feet. She knew her Magyk wasn't strong enough to get rid of the curse entirely, but she could soften the blow. It was obvious that "eternal slumber" meant death for the young princess. The faerie raised her wand and declared that the princess would not die, but truly sleep until the curse was broken.

Lisa stopped here, her chest heaving as she attempted to regain her composure. Dean later learned that the king had called in a few favors, and various fae presently appeared in order to erase the memories of all the guests attending the christening. Only members of the High Court of Eridor were allowed to keep the true memories of that day.

Dean sighs, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. In any case, they didn't have to worry about the Curse for a few more years. He moves this thought to a backburner, where it simmers in one unseen-but-not-quite-forgotten corner of his mind.

He finally reaches the Sam's chambers. His brother's private tutor, Ellen, is just making her way out of the doors. Dean grins at the sight of her. He has a deep fondness for Ellen, usually because she almost always carried little treats on her person that she is very generous with. The tutor smiles at Dean, and sure enough, does not disappoint. Shifting her stack of books to her other arm, Ellen reaches into one of her many pockets and tosses him a small, aluminum wrapped chocolate.

"Sorry, kid," she says, mussing his hair the same way she always does when she sees him. "I'm in a bit of a rush today. We should catch up later."

"Sure, Ellen."

She sweeps past him, books tucked under one arm as her skirts swish behind her with every brisk step. The moment she is gone, Sam's head peeks out from behind the doorframe.

"Dean?" Shining eyes look excitedly up at him from underneath floppy brown hair. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Yep. Grab your riding cloak and we'll get out of here."

"Where are we going?"

Dean grins. "Hurry up and you'll find out." He musses Sam's hair good naturedly before pushing him in the direction of his wardrobe. The kid scampers to get ready, almost slipping on a pile of papers that are scattered all over the floor. Dean steps into the room and picks one up.

It's a crude, charcoal drawing of three stick figures. Dean guesses that he is the tallest one, holding a crooked sword in one hand and a circular shield in the other. Another, slightly shorter stick figure is standing beside him. It also holds a sword and shield, but its scribbled brown hair is longer than Dean's. He lets his gaze fall on the third stick figure.

This one is a girl, if he's assuming that the triangular shape of her body is supposed to be a dress. Her eyes are closed. It suddenly strikes him that this one is Lisa. Sam had drawn the two of them going to rescue her. Dean's gut clenches as he looks at the drawing, and he lets it slip from his hands. All at once, his anxieties about The Curse return in full force. The paper makes a soft sound as it comes to rest on the floor.

"Come on, Dean, let's go!" Sam is waiting by the open door, and he looks almost comically excited. Dean takes a deep breath and forces his lips into a smile. Suddenly his day off doesn't seem nearly as exciting as it had only an hour ago. But this is supposed to be something fun for Sammy. He can't ruin it with his stupid mood swings.

Dean shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Alright, alright. I'm coming." And with that, they disappear out the door.

Eight years later, Dean can honestly say that he trusts Lisa more than anyone, besides Sammy. At this point, he can't remember a time that they have been apart. He might even love her.

The day she vanishes from the castle is the worst day of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

It's quiet. That's the first thing she notices. Not the gentle blanket of serenity that comes with the night, but an evil, oppressive quiet that speaks of void and solitude. It's also dark, a pitch black nothingness that squeezes her, wound corset-tight around her body. The cold stone table underneath her saps her of warmth, chilling her body and draining her energy.

Lisa tries to open her eyes, and finds she cannot.

She tries to move her hand, tries to bring it up to her face, but it remains limply at her side. Panic builds up inside her, threatening to rip her apart. Her choked cry gets stuck in her throat.

Lisa cannot move. A tear trickles out of her eye, moving slowly down her face and into her hair. She is silent. She is still. She is screaming.

Castiel wakes with a start.

He lets out a long breath, letting his eyelids fall shut once again. He swallows, raw throat chafing. The room holds the kind of heavy silence that speaks of recent screaming. Would this dream give him no peace? It had first come to him when the princess disappeared. Now it has become a nightly occurrence, jolting him awake and leaving him breathless every time without fail.

The unfamiliar room lends to his state of agitation. Even with the alliance made between humans and Seelie, he feels unsafe in the castle. There is no love lost between the two races, but it had been necessary for them to present a united force against the Unseelie Host. Castiel is a faerie captain surrounded by potentially inhospitable humans.

Castiel sighs. If only he was at full power. Being on earth for so long has slowly chipped at his magyk, and he feels the weariness in his bones.

He isn't going to get any more sleep tonight. Castiel sits up, stretching his arms over his head before donning his soft cotton shirt. He gently threads his wings through the slits in the back, fluttering them softly. The gossamer brush against his shoulder blades is reminiscent of a caress, bringing him slight comfort.

He roots through his dresser next, fingers finally closing around what he was looking for. He immediately feels better once the pendant is around his neck. He brushes it softly, warmth spreading along his fingertips as he does so.

Folding his wings flat against his back, he throws on a heavy cloak to ward off the chill of the evening. Then, he slips out of his chamber.

At this time of night the castle is deserted, with only the occasional skitter of mice to break the silence. The air is cool and dry, drafts floating around the castle like specters.

When Castiel finally reaches the gardens, he lets out a small sigh. The full moon casts a soft glow across the lawns, giving the whole place an ethereal look. It reminds him of home, the otherworld he has left behind to descend to earth. He suddenly feels a pang of longing.

Before, whenever he needed to clear his head he had walked the gardens of his home world. Something about the blanket of night has always been comforting. He sighs softly. This garden would have to do as a replacement.

He silently pulls up his hood, setting off down the path. Hands folded behind his back, he roams the gardens, eventually reaching the lake. Castiel stops for a moment, admiring the picturesque view of the moon hanging over the water.

He crosses the bridge halfway and sits, easing his legs through the rails. They dangle over the water, reflection shimmering and rippling on the surface. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't even notice the man standing just off the bridge until he speaks.

"Couldn't sleep?"

A startled yelp slips out of him, wings fluttering wildly under his cloak as he twists his body toward the voice. A young man is leaning against a tree a few yards away, his features obscured in shadow.

He recovers quickly, standing. His hand falls warily to the hilt of his sword, hidden under the heavy fabric of his cloak. As guests, all Faerie are supposed to be safe in the castle, but Castiel isn't sure if the rules of hospitality bind humans in quite the same way. And there are plenty of humans who blindly hate those of the Otherworld, who will lash out without provocation. Castiel has learned this lesson the hard way.

He keeps his voice cordial. "No. My apologies for being out on the grounds this late." After a moment, he adds a bit defensively, "You've been watching me."

"Easy there. I was just passing through." The man steps into the moonlight, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Happened to see you sitting here by the lake, and I guess I got curious. I'm just not used to seeing people out here this late."

Castiel narrows his eyes, but loosens his grip on the sword. This man doesn't look like he means any harm. Now that the moonlight reveals his features, he looks quite young. His clothes are handsome and well-tailored- not a servant then- and their cut speaks of nobility.

"Again, I apologize. I find that being outdoors calms me."

"Bad dream?"

Castiel pauses, then inclines his head slightly.

"Yeah." The man lets out a bitter huff of a laugh as he leans on the railing. "Yeah, me too. The lake is sort of like my hiding spot. A place to get away from everything else, you know?"

"I believe I do." Castiel pushes back his hood. This man is being remarkably open, oddly inducing him to do the same. "It was not my intention to invade your privacy. I can go, if you-,"

"Jesus. I already said you were fine, no need to keep apologizing."

"Sor-," he stops himself, wincing. All of his elegance seems to have deserted him. "Thank you."

The man just smirks. "So, which scary brain monsters drove you out here tonight?"

It takes Castiel a moment to realize the man is asking about his dreams. "I may be mistaken, sir, but I believe that is none of your business."

The man's smirk grows wider. "I believe that you're talking to a prince, and you should show some more respect."

Castiel narrows his eyes, suddenly putting two and two together. "Dean Winchester." He has seen the prince wandering the castle of course, but always from a distance and not often enough to breed familiarity. "Of course, you are not my prince. I owe you nothing."

Dean steps closer. "Alright, tall, dark, and mysterious." (At this, Castiel quirks an eyebrow. If anything, he is an inch shorter than the prince.) "If you don't answer to me, who do you answer to? Are you a spy from another kingdom? Come to steal all our secrets, huh? Or an assassin? From across the sea, maybe, just waiting for any chance you can get to gank the royal family?" With every word he gets closer, until they are hardly a foot distant. Cas's head is tilted back slightly, compensating for the height difference.

He can't help but snort at the absurdity of it all. "A spy would hardly admit outright to being one. And if it was my purpose to kill you, I could have done so already. Easily."

"Sure, shorty. In your dreams, maybe."

"Perhaps not. They aren't quite that pleasant."

He had meant it as a joke, but the prince's grin suddenly falters. "Sorry." He steps back, as if suddenly remembering something troubling. "I… sorry." Something is clearly troubling him.

Of course- his fiancée, Lisa. News of the girl's disappearance had spread quickly throughout the castle, but it had been too late for her. The loss has obviously taken a toll on Dean.

"I shouldn't tease you when my dreams ain't exactly a bundle of sunshine, either," Dean says.

They stand in silence. The good-natured atmosphere between just moments before them has completely evaporated. After a moment, Dean clears his throat, sitting on the grass. Castiel follows suit, albeit uncertainly. They look out onto the lake, accompanied by the chirping of crickets. The noise is loud in the sudden quiet.

"They've been about her. Every night." The words slip out before Castiel can stop them.

"What?"

"My dreams."

"Oh." Dean is only half-listening, lost in his thoughts.

"I don't… don't believe they can just be dreams, either. They're visions… more like nightmares, really. I see her… no I am her. She's sleeping, but she isn't… I'm not explaining this right." Cas pauses for a moment, thinking. "It's more like she's paralyzed. She can't move, can't speak, can't even open her eyes. The worst part is, she's fully aware of everything. She's confused and scared and…" he trails off, pressing his lips together.

Dean's gaze has shifted; he's staring at him intently, eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea."

Dean doesn't look convinced. He exhales sharply, turning his eyes back toward the lake. "They're just dreams," he mutters, almost to himself. "They have to be."

They sit side by side, the silence wrapped tense around them. They are both thinking about Lisa. Dean picks up a pebble, turning it over in his hands.

"Do you think they'll find her?" If there's anything left to find.

"No sign of her yet." Dean closes his eyes for a moment. "To be honest, I don't think my father's soldiers will be able to track her down themselves. They've been searching for weeks, and zilch."

"I'm not surprised. Andais is powerful. You'll only find her if she wants you to."

Dean opens his mouth and stops, as if he has stopped himself from saying something. Then he shrugs, looking at Castiel. "I promised not to talk about this, but… maybe you could help me puzzle through some things. Because to be honest, I have no idea what the fuck is going on here."

Castiel just sits quietly, waiting for Dean to speak.

"The day Lisa vanished, I found this thing in her room. A spindle… you know, the things that hold the thread on those sewing wheels?"

"Yes Dean, I know what a spindle is."

Dean shoots him a look before continuing. "Someone was trying to send us a message, I think. Maybe Andais, maybe not. In any case, I have no idea what the hell it could be."

Castiel turns this over in his mind. It is highly unlikely that the message could have been left by anyone except for Andais. As far as they know, she is working alone. And it certainly is in character. The Unseelie Queen is well known for extracting as much pleasure as she can from the pain of others. As to what the spindle may mean… Castiel can't think of any particular significance it may have.

"Is it a magyk object? Though rare, there are a few known to exist. If anyone should possess one, it would be Andais."

"It's been examined by experts," Dean says. "As far as anyone can tell, it's just an ordinary spindle."

Castiel speaks slowly, hesitantly. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Dean, but I think she may be enjoying this. She's going to draw it out for as long as she can. I'm not surprised she is leaving you clues, though they may not even mean anything. She may just wish to watch you grasp at straws."

"That goddamn bat-winged bitch," he mutters. Dean is absentmindedly tossing and catching the pebble, his eyebrows furrowed. "I brought it to my father. He has a few connections. He… may be able to find someone who can track where it came from. Then we could follow it to the source, maybe find Lisa." He shakes his head. They both know it won't be easy.

"I should be out there," Dean says suddenly. "I should be helping, doing anything but just… just sitting here." His fist clenches, and suddenly he flings the stone as far as he can. It lands in the lake with a splash. The emotional turmoil he is going through is almost radiating off him in waves.

After a moment of deliberation, Castiel slowly places a hand on Dean's shoulder. His fingers curl gently, not sure if he's doing it right. "I'm sorry. I'm sure she is fine." Bright green eyes lock with his, and the air suddenly becomes harder to breathe. Freckles dot across the prince's nose and cheeks, the moonlight highlighting them against his skin. He feels a shiver run through Dean's body.

Dean laughs suddenly, a short huff of breath as his eyes flicker away. "You know, pouring out all my very un-manly anxieties to a virtual stranger has been a real blast. But seriously- all this serious talk, and I don't even know your name." Castiel lets his hand drop. It is tingling slightly- from the cold, of course.

"My name is Castiel."

He hears the prince snort. "Castiel? That's kind of a mouthful, if you ask me."

"It's the name I was given at birth, Dean. I don't appreciate you making fun of it."

Dean holds his hands up, smiling a bit. "I wasn't making fun. Promise, Cas."

Cas. He likes that. He usually isn't fond of nicknames- for instance, he loathes that his brother Gabriel insists on calling him "Cassie"- but coming from Dean, it sounds right.

Dean shivers again. "Christ, its cold. This sorry excuse for a doublet ain't doing a thing to keep me warm." He grins, crossing his arms over his chest. "What does a prince need to do to get some quality clothing around here?"

Castiel doesn't know what makes him do it, but suddenly he is shrugging out of his cloak. "Here. You need it more than I do." He drapes it over Dean, leaning forward to do the clasp. Dean's soft protests fall upon deaf ears. Fae are considerably more resistant to the elements than humans. It is far too easy for Castiel to forget how fragile they really are.

When he looks up, their faces are close. Castiel hesitates, fingers stumbling over the simple button. Dean's eyes are locked on his, wide and confused. A tongue suddenly darts out between his lips, that hint of pink transfixing him.

Wide green eyes meet Castiel's, then flicker to his mouth, to behind him, and-

"Son of a bitch!" Dean jerks backward, scrambling away. His eyes are locked somewhere behind Castiel.

"What?" He stands fluidly, whirling around, and sees… nothing. He turns back to Dean, giving him a quizzical look. But Dean is backing away, not stopping until he reaches the end of the bridge. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"You're one of them." He spits the word out like poison.

Dean is looking at him like he's a monster. It takes a moment before it clicks- with the cloak no longer concealing them, his wings spread large and translucent in the moonlight. Not that he had thought he needed to hide them. Seelie are welcome in the castle. At least, they're supposed to be.

He stiffens. "Problem?"

Dean's face has changed, twisted into a sneer. "Course not. Your kind has only murdered people I loved and cursed my girlfriend. But there's no problem."

"My kind? That would be the Unseelie you're thinking of." Castiel is angry now. This… this human should know better than to insult a Daoine Sidhe, of the Seelie Court no less. "If you hadn't noticed, my kind helped humans to win the Second War."

"Yeah, right after you deserted us when we needed you most. You're all the same."

Castiel goes still. His voice is quiet and dangerous, the anger running underneath it like a live current. "I'm nothing like those Slaugh traitors. Retract your statement before you force me to do something I shall regret."

"I won't take back a damn thing. It's the truth. You turn my stomach."

Magyk flares up inside him, flowing white hot down his arm. Castiel says nothing, closing his eyes and shivering at the rush of sensation. It will not tolerate this insolence much longer. It guides his hand to the hilt of his sword, closing his fingertips gently around it. The faerie steel whispers against his sheath, singing for retribution.

This boy would do well to know the rules all Seelie are bound by. A serious slight against his honor would not be tolerated, by him or the magyk inside. He keeps his voice dangerously soft, a warning. "You would do well to apologize."

"You don't scare me."

He unsheathes his sword. The blade is polished and razor sharp.

Castiel certainly doesn't want to hurt the boy, but suddenly the magyk is forcing his muscles to contract, to raise the point until it is level with Dean's chest. Alarm is quickly overwhelming his anger. He tries to fight it, to open his fingers and drop the sword, but his body is not his own anymore.

He advances. Dean's eyes go wide.

Castiel has no doubt he would be able to kill this human, even without magyk, but he cannot. If he is discovered standing over the body of Eridor's eldest prince, war will break out between Seelie and humans all over again.

"Christ… you're crazy." Dean is backing away, hand scrabbling at his belt before he realizes he is unarmed. Castiel tries to stop, to keep is feet rooted in place, but it is no use. His voice the only thing left to him now.

"Dean, listen to me. Seelie are bound by four rules of magyk, one of them being Death Before Dishonor. That means as long as someone truly means a slight to my honor, the magyk inside will force me to exact vengeance. If you do not make an apology, it's going to kill you!"

Castiel is closing in. His arm is trembling, caught between mind and magyk.

Dean's eyes are flickering from the sword to his face. His face is the picture of disbelief, but thankfully his common sense seems to prevail. "Alright. I'm sorry," he mutters through his teeth.

The magyk goes out of Castiel in a rush. He stumbles, sword falling out of hand as he gasps in relief. "Thank y-."

A blow to his chest sends him reeling backwards. The breath goes out of him as he hits the ground. Dean is standing over him, the point of Castiel's own sword resting lightly at his throat.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Castiel is panting. His eyes are fixed on Dean's. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I didn't mean… I couldn't control what I did."

The pressure at his throat increases, the tip drawing blood. A drop flows crimson down the side of his neck.

"Wait! Please listen to me, Dean." The pressure doesn't ease up, but at least he isn't dead.

"You have one minute. Talk."

"This is the price I pay," Castiel explains. He swallows gingerly, tasting blood. "In exchange for all we can do to heal, to help… our free will is taken away. All faerie are bound by certain laws, both Seelie and Unseelie. Even if we don't want to follow them- and believe me, it was not my desire to murder you in cold blood- ,"

"Why the hell should I believe you?" Dean is furious, his eyes wild and his cheeks flushed. Some of his anger at Lisa's kidnapping is spilling over into this moment, overriding his common sense. As inappropriate as the thought is, Castiel can't help but marvel at how beautiful Dean looks in this moment.

"Because I'm telling the truth!" he shouts, voice breaking. Dean flinches. "I have been nothing but honest with you since we have met, Dean."

He glances upward, and is met with a hot stare. Dean's green eyes are bright with rage.

He is bracing for the end when the pressure leaves his throat. Dean throws the sword to the ground beside him, leaving Castiel gasping for air. It is at this moment that he realizes how far toward the mortal state he has fallen. Despite the thousands of years he has lived on this earth, the steel of a blade has reminded him how easily his time here can end.

Castiel props himself up on his elbows, staring at Dean's back. He is walking away with hardly a backward glance. Suddenly he pauses, not bothering to turn as he speaks. "I don't want to see you out here again."

Castiel says nothing. He only watches the retreating figure until it is out of sight.


End file.
